


Making Up

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e17 The White House Pro-Am, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-18
Updated: 2006-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Jed and Abbey leave the Michigan Women's Democratic Caucus.





	Making Up

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

My feet hurt. 

I love heels but this is ridiculous. I want nothing more to kick them off, peel off my suit and climb into bed with my husband’s arms wrapped tightly around me. 

A slight headache pounds my head directly behind my eyes. The stairs seem to never end. We should have taken the elevator, but I didn’t think about it. I forgot just how many stairs there were. So, hand-in-hand, we journey the long trek upstairs and down the hall to our bedroom. 

The mood is drastically changed from just a few hours ago when we had our first Oval Office fight. I have to admit that I’m surprised it took us two years to get that first one out of the way. But I’m glad it didn’t last too long. We have both been known to never back down from a fight. And neither of us is exactly the forgive-and-forget type; the ability to hold a grudge is a forte we happen to share quite well. 

Jed ushers me in the door past the always stoic Secret Service agents, releasing my hand to place his on the small of my back. He softly shuts the door as I toss my suit jacket onto a nearby chair and make my way to the bathroom. 

As I stumble in that general direction, I haphazardly kick off my shoes and reach underneath my skirt to pry off the stockings that I had been wearing for so long I was sure they had become attached to my skin. I drop them unceremoniously on the floor. I really don’t give a damn right now how much of a mess I make. 

I’m about a foot from the bathroom doorway when I feel two arms wind around my waist and a pair of lips kissing the skin below my earlobe. I can barely walk in a straight line right now. If I was awake enough, I would kill him; Secret Service, be damned. 

“Jed,” I sigh, “what are you doing?” 

His voice is muffled against my neck as his lips dip down toward my collarbone, “We had a fight. Now we have to make up.” I can feel his lips curl in a smile. Seriously, I should club him over the head with that fancy lamp I can see in the corner of my eye. It’s just within arm’s reach. It really is a damn shame I don’t have the energy to lift my arm right now. 

I can’t hide the exasperation from my voice, not that I’m trying to, “I’m too tired, Jed.” 

Now he’s pouting, “But it’s a rule. After a fight, there’s always the make-up sex. Don’t you remember?” He still hasn’t removed those lips from my skin. 

And now, it’s starting to get to me. My body is a traitor. His hands move up to my breasts and my back automatically arches, pushing them further into his grasp. I can’t stop my eyes from rolling towards the Heavens. God, what the hell did I ever do to you? “Jed, please. I’m about to fall asleep standing right here.” 

I thank God above when he lets go and steps back, deftly dropping his pants and kicking them to join my stockings. I make my way into the bathroom and shut the door just to be safe. 

I wash my face and brush my teeth, all the while leaning so heavily on the sink if I were bigger it probably would have fallen off the wall. I don’t even take off my clothes before making my way back to the bedroom. 

Jed’s at the dresser pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, so I just flop onto his side of the bed with all my clothes still on. I can feel his eyes on me but I just roll onto my stomach and scrunch up his pillow in that way that irritates the hell out of him. He says it ruins his pillow and makes it lose its “fluffiness.” This is the argument I get from my Nobel Prize winning hubby. 

I can hear him sigh and I wish he would stop making so much noise as he slams the drawer shut and stomps toward the bed. Okay, so maybe he didn’t slam it and maybe he isn’t stomping, but does he have to breathe that loudly? It’s driving me up the wall; can’t he see that I’m trying to sleep? 

I feel him shaking me and softly whispering my name. Can I reach that lamp from here? 

He sighs gently, giving up on waking me. I feel my skirt being unzipped, hear the teeth being split apart slowly. He’s attempting to be quiet. That’s so sweet. Too bad it’s not working. I wish he would just let me sleep in this suit. It’s really not that uncomfortable…really… 

He slides the skirt expertly down my legs. I have to admit that he does a pretty good job since I didn’t move a muscle to help him out. 

He’s pushing me over on my side and I have to resist the urge to use all the strength I have left to slap him. Instead, I groan as loudly as possible in protest and eventually succumb. Somehow, and I’m not exactly sure he manages, he removes my shirt. I have to confess that this is much more comfy. 

Now that I’m sprawled on my back in nothing but a slip and a bra, he climbs over me. I groan again as he keeps moving to find a good spot. He’s not really good at sleeping on the other side of his bed but I’m too selfish to move for him. He scoots beside me and I roll onto my side, facing away from him. His arms wrap around me tightly and he drops a kiss on my shoulder while pulling the comforter over our bodies. 

It wasn’t exactly how I planned. But the shoes are off and so is the suit. And, most importantly, I’m in bed with my husband’s arms wrapped tightly around me as I drift off. I’ll have to remember to make up for this, too. 

THE END 


End file.
